Grant Me A Fever Dream At Least
by Gnattine
Summary: It's been four days since the last time you slept. Four long days, wandering aimlessly around this lab, doing absolutely nothing.
1. Chapter 1

Crosspost from AO3

It's been four days since the last time you slept. Four long days, wandering aimlessly around this lab, doing absolutely nothing. The same thing you've been doing for just over half a sweep, about a year and a half. In all that time, what have you accomplished? You've spent all your time watching movies, getting angry at everything for no goddamn reason, and wishing you could make things better for yourself. But, honestly? You're getting what you deserve.

So many of your friends are dead, in ways you could have prevented if you were a better leader. You shouldn't have even been considered the leader at all. You failed, miserably. And everyone had to suffer the consequences. All of this happened because of you.

Those thoughts stay in your head. You're constantly reminding yourself of all your faults. At one point, sleep was a relief, so you could spend a few precious hours out of your own think pan, put off dealing with reality. But ever since the dream bubbles, your thoughts follow you to your dreams as well. At this point, you'd be fine with sleeping like you used to; no bubble, no Prospit; even without sopor. Nightmares would be a welcome relief.

You get up off the couch again. You've seen this movie so many times already. You're not even watching it anyway. Your head spins and you have to sit back down, shake off the dizzy spell. Once you feel it's gone, you stand a little more slowly, and start heading down a dark corridor.

Everything here is so dark. You don't mind the dark; everything was dark back on Alternia, too. But the darkness here feels so foreign. So empty. Your footsteps echo with every step, bouncing off the walls back at you. The dim lighting is casting strange shadows that seem to move, when they belong to unmoving objects. You almost chuckle. You are totally losing it.

As you step into a more well-lit room, you feel disoriented. The light hurts your eyes after being in the dark for so long. You walk over to the wall with Dave and Terezi's chalk mural. The Mayor contributed too. You start walking along the wall, dragging your hand along it. You don't know why. But you also don't know why not.

Your eyes drift over to Can Town, which is pretty much the only thing in this room. The three of them have spent so much time on this shitty fake village of nutrition cylinders, it's ridiculous. But at least they're actually doing something with their time. Unlike you. You look down at your hand, the gray now dusted with chalk. You stare at it for a moment, shrug, and drop your hand down to your side, and keep walking.

An hour later, you're back in your block where you started. You feel your thoughts drifting back to the guilt. Your stomach twists painfully, and you clutch at it, grimacing. Was it the thoughts causing that, or hunger maybe? When was the last time you ate? Whatever. You're a waste of food, a waste of breath, and a waste of space. No wonder everyone on this rock's abandoned you. They probably all blame you too.

You lean back against the closed door, sliding down slowly. You curl up into a ball, hugging your knees tight, staring out at nothing. You allow your thoughts to consume you, eat away at your pan. You miss everyone. Even the ones who are still here, because for you, they're not.

You miss Kanaya, who always seemed to care about you, always seemed like she wanted what was best for you. Now she's too busy staying with Rose at all times.

You miss Rose. She actually took some interest in what you had to say, even if it was just so she could psychoanalyze you. At least she paid attention. But now, all her time is spent by Kanaya's side.

You miss Gamzee. You haven't seen him in weeks. Even though he ended your moiraillegiance, maybe he still cares? No, you're fooling yourself. He doesn't care at all. Why would he?

You miss the Mayor. He's always with Dave and Terezi, busy working on Can Town. They wouldn't want you butting in. You'd fuck everything up. The way you always do.

You miss Terezi. You put her through so much drama, so many mixed signals; of course she'd get sick of you eventually. Besides, she's got Dave now.

You even miss Strider. Even if he was a pain in the ass, made you more furious than you ever had been, at least that was an emotion you could cope with. He ignores you now. You've tried talking to him, but he pretends not to hear.

You miss Jade. She was actually tolerable by the end. You liked her. A lot. Talking to her was enjoyable, even with that stupid password system.

You miss John. Insufferable, stupid, ridiculous John. He was entertaining, and he seemed to consider you a good friend. Which is exactly what you wish you had right now.

You miss Sollux. He was your best friend. Even if you two always fought, you never meant what you said. It was sort of an inside joke in a way. You'd piss each other off, make up, laugh it off, and go on with your conversation. He was a condescending fuck, but he was your best friend.

You miss your dead friends. Sure, you could go see them in the dream bubbles, but that was worse than not seeing them at all. Besides, unless you floated through one, you'd have to fall asleep for that. But you don't deserve to sleep. You don't deserve anything.

You curl up tighter; your chest feels so heavy. Breathing is getting difficult. You wish you could cry. Just cry all of this out, maybe that would help. But tears don't come. They never come.

Pointless, endless hours are spent like this. You go for days without sleep, finally succumb, only to wake a few short hours later, and the same routine. When you wake up in the bubbles, you hide away, locked up in your room and left with your own thoughts once again.

You'd think after this long, someone on this stupid meteor would've noticed. You look awful, the bags under your eyes more pronounced than ever, a stumble in your step because of uncoordinated exhaustion, maybe the fact that you never speak would be a big enough sign. You've stopped trying to talk to anyone at all. You never stay in an occupied room longer than it takes to walk through it to go somewhere else. You keep your eyes on the floor and drag your limbs. No one has noticed.

You guess that's what confirmed it for you. It wasn't just you being too hard on yourself again. It wasn't just the usual self-loathing. You aren't worth anything to anyone anymore. No one cares about you. If you died and rotted away, they wouldn't notice then, either.

Your breathing is so labored, you want to just stop trying. Everything hurts. You don't know what to do anymore. So, you just sit there, feeling the seconds, minutes, and hours drag by, not moving from that spot. You briefly wonder how much time has passed, before deciding you really don't care. You don't care at all, about anything.


	2. Chapter 2

After sitting there for a few more hours, you slowly stand, not sure you actually wanted to. But you don't really care; you're standing now, so you might as well move.

You decide to just go kill some time, wandering about. You progress down the dark halls again. You don't even need to look where you're going anymore. You've been down every path from every direction in this whole place, you've got it completely memorized without even trying.

You walk into a room where Kanaya and Rose are sitting on a fabric pile. They're asleep already, so you don't hurry to get through the room. Your eyes linger on them though. How must it feel to be so close to someone, both physically and emotionally? You can't remember what physical contact feels like. You've been alone for so long now. Seeing their faces, smiling even while asleep just from feeling each other's warmth, makes you realize how very cold you are.

You hug your arms around yourself and turn away, you heart heavier than before. You're happy for them though. For all you've done to fuck up their existences, they've found something good from it. At least there's one good thing that came from your failures. Though that hardly even begins to make up for the bad.

You continue meandering around, not sure of where you're going, when your head starts to spin. You figure it must be from a combination of hunger and sleep deprivation. Six days now, according to your crabphone. That's the longest you've gone. You decide to go to the nutrition block. You've got nothing better to do, and everyone's asleep anyway. You won't be running into anyone.

You think for a moment on how pathetic you are. You wish desperately that someone will notice the bags under your eyes, notice your absence, notice your silence, notice something. You haven't spoken a word in weeks. But at the same time, you're hoping no one will. You're stupid for wishing, which is why you're hoping, and in spite of your hoping, you still wish.

The halls seem longer now than usual. That thought floats through your mind, and you barely pay any attention to it. You start to stumble over your feet, mind getting fuzzier. You grip the walls to steady yourself. You're not really scared, because you don't care what happens to you anyway. But it might inconvenience everyone if they've got to navigate around your useless unconscious body.

You pass a door with a scratched record on it. You almost forgot Strider's room was so close to the nutrition block. You try to keep your footsteps a little lighter so you don't wake him up. He'd probably start bitching at you. Then again, at least he'd notice you. It's been so long since anyone has, you'd almost doubt your own existence, if not for the nagging fact that all of your fuckups are evident all around you; the lack of people, blood stains on the floors in the rooms that the remaining people try to avoid, the fact you're even on this rock in the first place.

Finally you get to the block you were headed to. You push away from the wall and wrap your arms around yourself again, ignoring the spinning in your think pan. You slowly approach the thermal hull, and pull it open. You start shifting through all of the food everyone's alchemized, looking for something no one will miss. The least you could do is not go stealing the food they made for themselves.

There's a whole shelf dedicated to Strider's apple creations. Apple juice, mostly. Apple cider, apple sauce, apple soda, apple bacon, apple chips, apple pancakes, apple syrup, apples, apple steak; you don't even know what most of that stuff is.

Rose has some strange things too, with weird names. Filet mignon, cordon bleu, sushi, crème brulee, soufflés, foies gras; you don't know what most of that stuff is either. When you heard her talking to Kanaya about it, she said it was things she'd heard of and been wanting to try. Apparently they were some kind of fancy cuisine on Earth.

You eventually decide not to take anything. You start to walk over to the cabinets to see if there's anything there. You take a couple of steps, and dark clouds show up in your vision, slowly covering everything until all you see is black. You reach out to break your fall, but lose consciousness before your fingers can touch anything.


	3. Chapter 3

You open your eyes slowly. There's sunlight coming through the leaves on the tree you're laying beneath. It's not your sun, you can tell that immediately. If it were, it would've blinded you. You blink up for a moment trying to figure out what happened, how you got here, wherever "here" is. Your mind is so cloudy, you can't focus.

You drag yourself up slowly to lean against the trunk, looking around. You're at a park or something, but you've never been here before. Where are you? You hear giggling coming from somewhere. Peeking around the tree, you see Rose and Kanaya, walking around hand-in-hand. Oh. You must have fallen asleep. This is a dream bubble, and you're probably in one of Rose's memories.

You turn away from them and look around you. The grass seems too green to be real, and there are flower bushes everywhere, each one looks flawless. Perfectly groomed and not a petal out of place. The sky is a striking blue, with little wisps of clouds dotting it. There are sidewalks cutting through the grass, twisting and turning. A large fountain seems to be the focal point here, since they all lead to it. There aren't any animals around, and it seems devoid of people besides the two girls. No dead friends or sleeping ones.

There's a row of hivestems on the other side of the street. Might as well go over there now and lock yourself in your block until you wake up. The same thing you do every single time you're here. The girls are probably too preoccupied with each other to notice you, so you'll be able to get over there without them seeing you. Don't want to intrude on their date. Yes, that's totally the reason you don't want them to see you.

As you walk, your body still feels heavy, and you're actually tired. Who knew dream holograms (or whatever these things are called) could even get tired? Your physical body is already sleeping, this body shouldn't need sleep. Maybe it has something to do with your being a mutant. Wouldn't that be just fucking perfect.

You get to the door and open it, remembering what your hive looked like; the nostalgia almost stings. Inside is a perfect replica, which you enter, closing the door with a sigh. You are now free to lament once again. You just wish you could escape your own thoughts completely, just for a little while. But no, the universe would never allow you to just rest and relax. Not that you blame it. If anything, you agree.

Looking at your recooperacoon, you wonder if it's possible for a dream hologram to sleep. If it is, would you have normal dreams again? You decide not to even try. You'll just wait around here until you wake up. You're glad none of your dead friends were around this time. You always feel kind of bad when you have to shrug them off and run away to your block. You just can't bring yourself to look at the white void of their eyes, knowing it was most likely something you did that got them killed.

Why do they want to be around you, anyway? Why couldn't they go hang out with one of your dead alternate timeline selves? The ones who were successful at something, reached god tier and died heroically? What's so special about being "alpha you"? All you were successful at was being the lousy, pathetic piece of shit the alpha timeline had always planned on you being. And boy, oh, boy, did you deliver on that one. When it comes to being the pinnacle of the worst, you are simply the best there is.


	4. Chapter 4

Slumped up against the wall, you lay your head back. You're so tired. You're tired in every sense of the word. You're tired of being in these bubbles, of being on the meteor, of being lonely, of sleeping, of being awake, of being ignored, you're tired of everything. Your body is tired too. You're just so tired.

You're not sure sleeping is helping. This body feels worse, if anything. Is sleeping really not going to do any good anymore? Then again, what good did it do before? Allowed you to carry on for a few more days of empty existence? You know there are so many things you should be doing. You should be training, getting ready for the imminent fight waiting for you once you get to the new session. You should be helping the others prepare too, in whatever way you can. You never do any of that though. You waste all your time, doing absolutely nothing.

How long have you been sleeping, two, three hours? You should be waking up soon. Then it'll be the same fucking thing all over again. You're not sure how much more of this you can take. You're not sure what you'll do once you can't take it anymore. No, you don't want to think about that.

You sit up more, rest your elbows on your knees, and grip your hair. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to block out your thoughts. You let your mind wander, and it goes to the same dark places it always does. But slowly, you start drifting, and hear music. You've never heard this music before, so it can't be a memory. But it's nice, so you don't dwell on the thought.

The guitar echoes in your mind. The tune is soft, sad. Acoustic chords flowing through and blocking out your thoughts. You let yourself get lost in the music. You let it take over, and you finally take a second to step out of your own head. It feels so good. You can finally breathe. You lift your head, keeping your eyes closed, and breathe in the air around you in time with the music. In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four, in-two-three-four, out-two-three-four. The sounds surround you, enveloping you in comforting rhythms. You don't care where it's coming from. You're just thankful it's there.

Until it starts fading away again, just barely echoing in the back of your memory. Your eyes open, desperate for the music to come back and save you again. But it's all gone now. You're left alone once again, with your self-pity the only thing with you. Of course it would go away. Nothing good ever stays around you for long. It never lasts long. How didn't you see this coming?

You curl up again, resting your chin on your knees. You stare out at nothing. You wait for the world around you to fade to black and to wake up again. It should be happening soon, at least you hope so. Which is a silly thing to hope. What good will being awake do you at this point? You'll just go back to your block and do what you're doing here. You grit your teeth. You hate yourself. Not past you, not future you. Present you. This you. Just YOU.

Finally, everything starts to fade. You stop clenching your fists, and lean back, your eyes drifting shut. For a moment, you feel like you're in a void, somewhere between reality and the bubble. In that second, there's no noise, not a sound. You decide you hate that. You're done with the silence.


	5. Chapter 5

You feel your consciousness return to your body. You try to open your eyes, but your eyelids refuse to cooperate. You can still sense your surroundings. You're expecting to feel the cold steel of the meteor floor where you remember losing yourself. But instead, you feel warmth you haven't felt in so long. Almost…cozy? You feel soft fabric against your cheek, and the fluffy cushions of the common room couch underneath you. You're certain you didn't pass out here. So how did you get here?

You continue to lay still, your body still too tired to do anything else. Your mind begins to drift, not to any place in particular. It doesn't stay focused on any one thing for very long, so you're not entirely sure what you think about. The thoughts sort of blend together. You don't mind it, though. You'd rather not think; you're not sure you'd like what you'd think about. You're so comfortable, and tired. Maybe you'll fall asleep again...

You get pulled from your daze by the sound of something moving nearby. Your muscles tense up in response, but your eyes don't open right away. After a moment, you shift yourself. You turn over and push up onto your hands, forcing your eyes open. After letting them adjust, you bring your gaze up to see what had moved, what had probably brought you here. You're not sure what you expected to find, but a pair of shades looking back at you was certainly not it.

You stare at the faint outline of eyes you can see behind the shades. Neither of you move for a long while. He, because he wants you to move first; you, because you don't understand. This insufferable ass has ignored your existence for weeks. And yet, all signs point to him having been the one to bring you here. You suppose you could understand if you were in the way of everyone, moving you somewhere else. But he's still here. That doesn't make sense.

It's strange being in someone else's presence, and being acknowledged. He's locked eyes with you and refuses to look away. You feel time ticking by, as usual, but it's very different when you're not alone. You know this stalemate could last for long time; no way would he give in. But...what could you possibly say? You don't even understand what's going on. You think for a while, but nothing comes to mind, until you hear your own voice, weak and scratchy. Well, scratchier than usual.

"D-Dave…?" It's barely a whisper. If it weren't dead silent, you doubt he would've heard you. You see a response in his eyes, but he remains silent. You swallow, your throat feels like a desert. You try again, "Da...ve...wh.."

Honestly, you're so pathetic. You can't even form words. Finally, you break eye contact with him, and let your head drop. You take three deep breaths, which you try to make steady, but they shake. In fact, you think all of you is shaking. The thought barely registers before your arms collapse, and you faceplant on the couch. Of course, you realize that's embarrassing, but you're still past the point of caring.

Until you feel something on your shoulders. It's so warm, so gentle. Hands; hands that lift you as if you'll shatter if they move too quickly. Hands that are strong, but not threatening. They guide you until you're leaning against his warm chest. All of him is so warm. You remember Rose and Kanaya, and you don't fight against him. You melt into his touch, for the first time in so long, so painfully long...You feel comfort.

You still can't move. You try, but your muscles merely twitch. You're not sure how long you lay there, not sure you care. Just to have somebody, fucking anybody so close to you, it's more than you deserve.

You wait for an hour, you estimate, before trying to move again. This time it works. He helps you slowly sit up, making sure you won't fall again. It's a strange thought to you. Knowing someone is right next to you, who will literally catch you if you fall. Even stranger knowing it's Dave. You shake your head. You're reading too much into things. Strider doesn't care about things. He must be doing this for his own benefit. Whatever "this" is.

You raise a shoulder, the closest you can get to shrugging him off, and he actually gets the point, letting go and removing himself from your personal space bubble, far enough for your comfort, but still close enough to catch you if you need it. You're so confused. What is even going on, you don't understand. Why is he helping you, why are you letting him, and what the hell is that on the floor?


	6. Chapter 6

Dave sees you staring at it, and leaves your side to retrieve the wooden object. You shiver as the air chills around you at his absence, and bring your limbs in closer. Returning, he plops down on the couch again, his weight making the cushion give, causing you to slump against his shoulder. Propping it on his knee, he drapes an arm over it.

You reach out and touch it, gently drag your fingers toward the strings, and strumming softly. You furrow your brow at the familiar sound that rings. It takes you a moment to place where you had heard it. You look back at his face again. "You...played?" You apparently are still not fully functional, though you apparently are functioning well enough to be fully and embarrassingly aware of this fact.

"Dude. You collapse on the kitchen floor and the first thing you wonder is if I can play guitar?" He says it flatly, and suddenly your stomach is in your chest and your pump biscuit is in your throat. Oh fuck. You're so relieved and stunned and you're happy. This is the first time in so long he's spoken a word to you. He's acknowledging your pathetic existence, he's speaking to you, he is taking care of you. The realization that these accumulated facts brings you happiness pisses you off. You're now very irritated.

You notice him watching you thinking, and he looks amused. Well, goddamn, is there anything he does that doesn't piss you off? "What happened there anyway. Didn't look like the most comfortable place to take a snooze. Also you laid down pretty fucking loudly."

You roll your eyes and ignore the likely rhetorical question, refusing to answer. Looking back at the instrument, you look closely at it, not sure where this sudden fascination came from. But you suppose it doesn't matter much. "Before. When I was. Asleep. You played?"

He shrugs, cocking an eyebrow. You huff at him. "Yes or no." He nods. You curse profusely in your mind. He played. It was the music he was playing that soothed you so much. It was because of him you finally managed to escape your own thoughts. He lifted you out of that dark cavern of cold loneliness and unrelenting depression.

You realize you're staring at him, and shift your eyes back down to where your hand is absently tracing the details on the guitar's neck. They're so intricate, laboriously so. Spirals and spins and branches leading down dozens of paths for your wandering fingers to choose from.

Without warning the cushion beneath you slants in a different angle as Strider shifts. You start a little, and his free hand is on your shoulder, holding you up. He chuckles almost inaudibly. You pretend not to notice. He still hasn't moved his hand.

Every gesture from him tonight has been so pale. You cannot figure it out. How is it possible that after treating you like such insignificant trash for so long, he's suddenly acting so...is he even aware of it? You have no idea what his motives could possibly be. You're dumbfounded at this human. You doubt you'll ever be able to figure him out. But, first thing's first. You wrap your fingers around the neck of the guitar, and guide it out of Dave's grip, into your lap.


	7. Chapter 7

You hear a knock at the door, a sound which has become both comforting and annoying. Comforting, because it means he's here. Annoying, because it's means he's here. Grumbling, you roll over in your pile (you still can't believe you started making piles of things too) and grunt out an irritated "mh," in the general direction of the door. You rub your eyes and sit up, clearing your head. You'd been in the middle of writing something in your block in a dream bubble. You no longer hate going there. That's the only place you write down words. You still feel uncomfortable about having it written down on paper here, where anyone could find it. But it's getting closer to the day you know you'll let him read it. Or, rather, hear it.

Dave swings the door open at your invitation, shoving it closed behind him. You still cannot figure out how he does such movements so silently. The door barely clicks as it closes. He pulls his usual chair over in front of you, plopping down, still not saying anything. He gives you a small nod, and his lips quirk slightly. You can tell that means you have horrid "bedhead" again. You bring a hand up to pat it down a bit, and give up immediately. You don't really care either way. It's just Dave, no big deal.

You let yourself fully wake up before speaking. "Time again huh?" He's taken to waking you up at the same time every day. At least an hour too early for your taste, but the routine is good for you. It gives a small purpose and and goal to each day. He says you need to take better care of yourself if you want to start feeling better. In his own stupid words, of course. Wake up, practice, eat, movies, mess around, eat, then whatever else you feel like doing that day, before you get to go to sleep again, and keep writing. The days no longer blend together for you, and the hours have stopped dragging. They seem to fly past you now, and you're happy about that.

When Strider started getting you into this routine, it just got too weird to not say anything. You remember the look he gave you when you finally just asked "So, what, are we pale now?" He smirked at you, shook his head a little and it made you feel a little embarrassed for asking. "Dude we're bros. This is what bros do." You think you like that. Being his "bro". Feels even more important than just being friends. And he was doing all of this for you because he wanted to, rather than out of obligation due to moiraillegiance. Somehow that made it even more meaningful. You'd never tell him that though. He's still an insufferable prick. Just a lot more sufferable.

He nods, tossing you the guitar out of his sylladex. You adjust yourself on the pile to a more comfortable playing position. You've been meaning to bring another chair in here, you just keep forgetting. No too big of a deal anyway. You pluck the strings one at a time, listening to the reverberating tones that echo out, a couple sound a little off. You mess with the knobs at the top and pluck them each again, until they sound right to your ears. He told you a few days ago he was surprised you could tune it by ear, after such a short amount of time. You were kind of proud of that.

He still hasn't told you the names of anything. You just know chords are notes played together, but you don't know much else, just some other basic things, but besides that he just lets you do your own thing. You don't know which notes you play, or if you're playing right, but he usually corrects you if you do end up doing something wrong. So you begin playing.

You always play almost the same thing. Some days certain chords sound wrong in the place you'd had them the previous day, so you'll change them, or change the tempo you play at, but you never end a session without feeling confident at that time about what you've got so far. He hardly ever lets you go for more than a couple of hours at a time, but you're fine with that too. He says it's good you've got a hobby, but you've gotta have other things in your life too.

But now isn't the time to think about that. You strum, and set your fingers to the position they always start in, and begin playing. It sounds so crystalline and clear, and clears your mind of thoughts until the sound dulls out. You play the short song Dave had played that first day, then let it lead into your own song. You're almost done with it, you can feel it. You no longer mess up and have to start over. You're just having a bit of trouble with keeping the same tempo the whole time. But you're getting better at it. He says so too. You're getting better at something that you enjoy. You're happy about that.


	8. Chapter 8

Deep breath in, exhale slow. Adjusting your fingers over the strings, you glance at him again. He waits patiently. You've practiced so much lately. You can play and sing at the same time easily. You haven't made a mistake in playing in about a month. You're confident you can do it right. But it's the first time he'll hear the words, hear you sing. You're not sure what he'll think. You know he won't make fun of you if he doesn't like it. But you still hope he thinks it's good. You kinda poured a lot into this.

You're ready.

You strum out Dave's song. Slow, steady, exactly as he'd played it. You let the sound resonate a moment as you strum out the last chords. Then pick the tempo up slightly, playing what you have practiced so many times. You let the music surround you and fill your mind. You get a bit nervous as you approach the first verse, but the comfort of the music and Dave's patience calm you. You breathe in, and begin.

"Let's talk about the time I waste

All the things I said I'd do but only say

And nothing was done today

But I still feel I shouldn't be awake

Exhausted from the same old grievance

Another day, another moral inconvenience

And who would bat an eye while the world around them dies?

And who could, I can't seem to close mine

And I wish that we weren't forced to find out

I wish we never knew what this was about

But there's reasons why we fall so far so fast

There's reasons why the pluses never last

Rest is the world's best advice

But the universe would kill me if I tried

Time passes and I wait

So much more to do when I'm awake

And I've now lost track of days

Just one night where all is just a haze

I've long forgotten what dreams feel like

Another sleep, another eon lost from daylight

And who would lend a word? It's more than just absurd

But I think it can't be too much worse

The stars have gone dark and I'm shaking

No questions why I deserve anything

Cause there's reasons why we fell so far so fast

There's reasons why the pluses never last

Take my own thoughts with a grain of salt

When I tell myself that this is all my fault

Cause there's reasons for these bags under my eyes

It's the effort I don't give except in lies

Maybe it's the weight of all the promises I couldn't keep

But the universe will not let me sleep

Grant me a fever dream at least."

The chords fade out. You finally look up at Dave. He remained silent through the whole thing. You wait for his reaction.

He gives you a small, sad smile, and a nod. That's really all he has to say. You're close enough now, you understand all he was conveying through those small movements.

Wordlessly, you recaptchalogue your guitar, stand, and head back to the common room couch to watch more Dane Cook, as is routine.

Along the way, he does ask you a question. "By the way, mind if I record that sometime? I bet some fans on Tumblr would love to hear it."

Hear the song here!


End file.
